


White

by StalineBC



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Algonquin, Bad Poetry, Invicta, Native Canadian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:51:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StalineBC/pseuds/StalineBC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a poem. Inspired by my adoptive cousin. RIP sir.  I found you too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zaccheus Jackson Nyce](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Zaccheus+Jackson+Nyce).



White.  
I look it. Sound it. Act it.  
I’m not it.  
White is my skin colour, my curse.  
My burden to bear.  
But that is half of me.   
I am Algonquin and not.   
A half-breed, if you will.  
It’s as though I am in disguise,  
Unveiling myself for a thrill.  
But a thrill it is not.  
For I see what you do to those not like you.  
I see the pain, the hate, the hurt.  
Racism as casual as a Sunday stroll.  
And in time when my skin sags and darkens I shall pay my toll.  
But for now I hide and bask in my curse of whiteness.  
Bland and pale.  
Like mayonnaise on a white bread sandwich.   
I am ubiquitous, unobtrusive, unoffensive.  Hidden in plain sight.  
My red skin sunken through depths of cloth, covered and coated until it faded into me.  
All because of shame.  
Shame of myself for what I am.  
What I always will be.  
Shame of my skin, my heritage.  
And may my ancestors forgive me for my trespasses.  
Lead me not unto those that will harm me.  
For I was mistaken.  
And wish to be forgiven.   
My skin does not define me.  
My soul does.  
But I white washed it until nothing remained.   
Until I knew not who I was but what I thought I should be.  
And that is my biggest sin.  
Living the life of a pretender.  
But I will not hide anymore.  
I will not cower in the face of those that should hurt me for my skin.   
I will let the sun breath it’s life back into me.  
I will let it burn me until I am as red as my mother, my sisters and brothers.   
Until ochre bathes me head to toe.  
Until that sun sets and wheezes it’s last insignificant breath.  
I will open my arms.  
Embrace and rejoice.   
I will not hide anymore.  
I will let it show until death.  
And only then, will I return to hide.  
Bones bleached by wind and rain and light.  
Because, God dammit.   
We will always return to white.


End file.
